


not so secret after all

by matsinko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsinko/pseuds/matsinko
Summary: A Secret Santa at the Auror office.





	not so secret after all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkravenwrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/gifts).



> dear Darkravenwrote,  
> i loved your prompts and i dearly wish i had the time to write all of them. unfortunately, i had to pick one, so i went with the ministry secret santa. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> and as always, i have to thank [M.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eijuns) and B. for all the support. 
> 
> extra special thanks to [M.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eijuns) for beta-ing!

It all goes down on a sunny December day—well, sunny for London, that is, when some rays of sunshine do manage to peak through the grey curtain of winter gloom—and Harry stumbles upon it only accidentally.

He’s just exited the Auror Office and about to walk into the small kitchen-slash-sitting area, where a tall Christmas tree is currently occupying at least half of the space, making it all the more challenging to reach the kettle, when he hears his name. In a rather hushed-but-not-really kind of voice.

He stops, hand hovering over the handle. He has just about made up his mind to walk in and stop whatever’s going on—it’s not like he doesn’t hear his name all the time—but then a second voice joins, not even bothering to keep quiet, and the conversation stops him dead in his tracks.

“Bloody hell, someone’s obsessed with Harry again,” shrieks no-one else but Ron.

“I wouldn’t go as far as _obsessed_ ,” joins the first voice again, which Harry recognises as Dean’s, now that he has abandoned all pretence that whispering is working out for him. “It’s just a stupid bracelet.”

Ron gasps so loud, Harry can visualise the whole expression—how his jaw drops and his eyes go wide. “It is not a stupid bracelet, it’s a _promise_ bracelet!”

“The only thing that it seems to promise is to not perform its bracelet duties,” Dean continues on, sounding not at all convinced at whatever Ron is on about. “It doesn’t have a clasp.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron repeats.

“It doesn’t _need_ a clasp,” joins a third person with a barely contained excitement.

Harry lets his hand drop from the handle.

“What are _you_ doing here?” asks Dean, not unreasonably. Harry is pretty sure Lavender Brown has been banned from the Aurors' kitchen on _several_ occasions, yet her presence doesn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. She has always had a knack for gossip, and the Auror Headquarters has always been quite the hotspot for that.

“Oh, hush now,” she says, her heels clicking as she makes her way closer, presumably to inspect the object.

Harry can’t imagine how boring it must be at the Wizengamot Administration Services if Lavender’s here every other day.

He presses his ear to the door like he’s 12, not 28.

Silence falls around the room, and Harry briefly considers walking away, but his ardent curiosity keeps his feet glued to the ground. Plus, he’s already quite committed to eavesdropping. _It’s only fair_ , he thinks, since they’re most probably looking at _his_ Secret Santa gift, which, in his defence, doesn’t seem to be a _secret_ at all anymore.

“I haven’t seen one since my great-grandmother Primrose,” Lavender says with a dreamy sigh.

Dean snorts. “It’s useless.”

“Mate!” Ron says, offended. “It’s a promise bracelet!” He repeats as if he didn’t say that 2 minutes ago. Dean, and Harry too if he needs to be completely honest here, has no idea whatsoever what _that_ might mean.

“Oh, Thomas,” Lavender intervenes and rushes to explain, her high-pitched tone of voice entirely too excited for an 8:30 on a Wednesday morning. “It doesn’t need a clasp, because it’s magicked. When one promises their hand to someone—and if that person wants them in return, the bracelet will present a latch. They say the bracelet is unbreakable and would stay on forever, forming a bond between two souls!” She sighs again—loud and animated—and adds, “It’s horribly romantic!”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up. He swallows, trying to dislodge his heart that has currently made a home in his throat and looks left and right down the long, dark corridor. Not many people seem to be around this early only three days before Christmas. _Good for them_ , Harry thinks, semi-bitterly, yet thankful that he can continue on eavesdropping undisturbed.

Lavender’s voice drops down a notch into a conspiratorial hush. “But if you remove it, you can _never_ put it back on. Some bracelets misfunction and won’t even allow subsequent owners.”

Ron groans.

“Why would someone give one to Harry?” asks Dean reasonably.

“Maybe Harry has a sweetheart!” Lavender gushes.

“Or it’s another Mary!” Ron says, sounding troubled, and Harry cringes at the thought.

Mary was a lovely lady from Administrative Registration who had managed to sneak some good old love potion into Harry’s morning tea, managing to enchant five other wizards and witches in the process (she had infused several tea bags, just in case). Hence, everyone has been cautious in allowing cross-department employees into the Auror’s kitchen since.

Mary had to get fired, unfortunately, but at least she survived Draco’s wrath which, in retrospect, is a tough thing to survive. Harry can confirm first-hand as the sole person responsible for breaking Draco’s favourite mug last Christmas.

Lavender clicks her tongue and Harry can almost see her rolling her eyes at Ron, which is funny considering, well, _her_ experience with love potions. “Promise bracelets are harmless, you buffoons,” she says matter of factly. “If Harry isn’t interested, the enchantment won’t even work. It’s a waste of such a rare object.”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “Unless Harry’s dating someone?”

The room falls silent again, and Harry would bet a galleon they’re all looking at Ron.

“He is _not_ ,” Ron says, sounding uncertain. “But you know how Harry is with that stuff—” A moment later he elaborates with a little cough. “Private.”

Lavender produces one of her big, dreamy sighs again. “Love,” she says and giggles.

Harry’s still half stuck on the promise bracelet, his heart doing Olympics-worthy somersaults in his throat. He is almost certain there is just one wizard that could be in a possession of such a traditional, magical artefact but he’s also quite sure that last time he checked, said wizard definitely did not want to go public. He was, in fact, quite unrelenting about the potential negative impacts of going public.

Harry hadn’t minded that at all, being private himself—as Ron has mentioned—yet he also thinks there are only so many longing glances he can direct Draco Malfoy’s way before half of the ministry figures it out. He isn’t sure if he’s doing a stellar job of keeping it discreet or if everyone else just ignores what’s right in front of their eyes. Maybe their whole school... _experience_ —with the rivalry and everything—plays to their advantage here.

A small cough distracts him from his thoughts, and when he turns towards the sound, he’s met with a very inquisitive-looking Hermione, eyebrows lifted so high they’re disappearing under her side-fringe.

He never even heard her approaching.

“What are you doing?” She inquires, her eyes scanning him up and down, like the past 10 minutes of his life are written all over him.

“Um,” Harry says. “Nothing.”

He must do a pretty lousy job of sounding convincing, because she pushes right past him, opens the door and walks directly in the middle of Ron putting a little forest green box back under the Christmas tree.

At least he’s doing an even _worse_ job than Harry in looking innocent.

“Tell me you didn’t just go through the gifts. It’s a _Secret_ Santa!” She does the whole crossed-arms-stern-face look that can make absolutely anyone spill whatever they’ve been hiding.

“One of them fell,” Ron answers valiantly, glancing back and forth between Hermione and Harry, who’s still standing at the door, eyeing the small, velvety box.

Dean shrugs and swishes his wand. The kettle comes to life. Lavender smiles at Harry from behind her (stolen) coffee mug and wiggles her eyebrows.

They’re all utterly bollocks at acting innocent.

Hermione squints at Ron. “ _Ronald_...” she says very slowly.

“Didn’t do anything!” He says defiantly. “It’s not like it’s impossible to knock something over here,” he adds waving his hands towards the huge tree, which, Harry has to admit, is a fair point. Whoever did the holiday spell work in this room didn’t care much about practicality.

“Fine,” she says with one last suspicious look at Ron, then unbuttons her tiny purse and takes a whole lunchbox out of it—still great at Extension Charms—placing it on the high wooden table that’s squished between the tree and the kitchen tops. Harry can bet it’s been magicked smaller to fit too. “You forgot your lunch.”

And because things just couldn’t get more ridiculous than they already are, the next person who comes in—or rather, tries to, because Harry is still standing at the door, blocking the entryway—is none other than Draco Malfoy.

“Potter,” he says, and discreetly uses the palm of his hand to gently nudge Harry to the left, so he can pass.

That little brush of Draco’s hand results in a leap in Harry’s chest, the skin on his face heating up like he’s a teenager. You can’t really blame him—just thinking about Draco and the word ‘promise’ together already makes him feel all warm and tingly. Damn his friends for being nosy. He has actual _work_ to do today.

Draco, however, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He somehow manages to make his way through the cramped kitchen-turned-Christmas-display room, nod at everyone present _and_ pour the hot water Dean had been boiling.

“Hey!” Dean protests. “That was _my_ water.”

“Right,” Draco says. “Your water,” he adds and takes a deliberately slow sip of his freshly brewed tea. How he can drink something that hot is beyond Harry.

Dean sputters.

“Have I missed the memo?” Draco asks, ignoring Dean. “Are they paying double to everyone who comes to work at 8 AM today?”

“Erm,” Harry says, looking over to where Draco’s leaning on the counter, sipping tea, and his face heats further. Grey gaze meets his and whatever Harry was going to say slips out of his mind and disappears into oblivion. _Draco looks nice_ , he thinks instead, with his pristine robes and styled hair; so put together that all Harry wants is ruffle him up.

Hermione clears her throat, and Draco raises an eyebrow from behind his cup of tea.

Harry’s so _screwed_.

“Mate, are you alright?” Ron asks, concerned. “You’re all… red.”

And because _clearly,_ the universe is out to get him, two things happen at the same time. Seamus—yet another person completely ignoring the cross-department kitchen visitations ban—comes into the room just as Lavender, completely forgetting that there is such a thing as an indoor voice, shrieks, “Merlin’s beard, it’s _love_! Harry’s in love!”

Seamus stops dead on his tracks.

Draco almost drops his cup.

“Oh my god,” Hermione says.

“Harry’s in… _what_?” Seamus asks.

Ron, bless his heart, attempts to come to the rescue with possibly the worst thing that could be said at this very moment. To his defence, he’d always been quick to jump to his friends’ defences. He just needed to work on the whole _not thinking things through first_  He says, “Oh, come on, a promise bracelet doesn’t mean Harry’s in love, it means someone is in love _with_ Harry.”

“Oh my god,” Hermione says again.

“A _what_ bracelet?” Seamus asks.

Draco drops his cup.

Lavender giggles.

“You looked at the gifts, didn’t you?” Hermione says through her teeth, positively seething.

“We knocked it over! Accidentally!” Ron wails.

“Oh, no, _no_ ,” Dean intervenes. “There is no _we_ in this,” he says while casually _Reparo_ -ing Draco’s cup. When it’s done mending, he levitates it back to Draco.

“Dean, you traitor!”

Dean shrugs and finally pours hot water in his own cup. “Where’s the milk?”

“Harry can’t be in love,” Seamus half-laughs, half-snorts. “The last time he was in a relationship it was with Ginny, and we all know how _that_ went.”

“Thank you, Seamus,” Harry says. “I’m standing right here.”

“Oh my god,” Hermione says. It’s turning into her favourite phrase, Harry notes absentmindedly.

Lavender laughs joyously. “Spill it, Harry!”

“I—” Harry says. “Erm.” He looks over at Draco anxiously, shooting an apologetic look. He isn’t sure how they’re going to lie their way through _this_ one, because Harry _is_ in love. He’s so in love he can’t breathe. He wants to tell the whole world, even if Draco isn’t actually his Secret Santa.

Draco, however, seems to have recovered. He smiles at Harry, grey eyes warming up, not a trace nervous. He’s as composed as ever and the way he looks at Harry, steadfast and reassuring, makes Harry himself relax. He smiles back, enjoying the tingle that spreads over his skin.

“Actually—” Draco begins.

“Blimey, what if it’s Olga from Filing?” Seamus cuts in. “Last time I went down there, she was asking after Harry.”

“I think you should just listen to—” Hermione tries saying, but Ron groans so loud, the rest of the sentence drowns in his distress.

“Not Olga from Filing!” He bellows. “Harry has better taste than that.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says weakly and glances towards Draco. Visibly amused, he’s refilling his cup again, smiling to himself.

 _Oh_ , Harry thinks. _He was about to—_

“Olga from Filing is Muggle-born,” Dean states. “She wouldn’t know what a promise bracelet is. _I_ didn’t.”

“I do,” Hermione says and crosses her arms.

“No offence, ‘Mione,” Ron says, having gotten over the shock of Olga from Filing being Harry’s supposed other half, “but you know a lot more than… literally anyone.”

Seamus flops down on one of the chairs, looking dazed. “What’s a promise bracelet?”

Draco’s shaking his head, Harry notices, still amused. He’s sipping his tea, watching everything unfold with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Harry’s grinning, so hard his jaw is starting to ache, at the pure happiness he feels when watching Draco smile so openly at something that might as well result in their secret relationship becoming… not so secret.

When Draco looks up to meet Harry’s gaze again, he’s letting his fondness seep through his usual calm and collected expression. _‘I’m ready_ ,’ he mouths over his cup and Harry laughs—it bubbles out of him, unrepressed and _free_. Everything narrows down to this—to _them_ —the bickering fading in the background.

Hermione seems to be the only one not participating in the new discussion of whether Vivianne, one of the Hit wizards on Seamus’s team, might be the object of Harry Potter's affections. Instead, she’s looking at him with soft, accepting eyes, and he knows—at that moment _he knows_ —that she’s already aware of what’s going on. He wonders idly if she had any ulterior motives when she suggested Secret Santa as a new Holiday Team-Building Activity.

“I once watched Vivianne use the Sardine Hex on someone until they cried,” is the first thing Harry hears when he comes back to the conversation.

Seamus shudders.

“Maybe Harry likes bad girls,” Lavender suggests, giggling.

“Erm,” Harry says for the lack of anything even remotely appropriate to say in this situation. “Guys, listen—”

“Harry would _never_ ,” begins Ron, ready to fight for Harry’s virtue.

It’s then when Draco speaks.

“It’s me,” he says, and the conversation grinds to a complete halt. Ron’s mouth hangs comically open, sheer shock halting whatever he was saying.

“It’s me,” Draco repeats. “ _I'm_ in love with Harry.”

“What?” Seamus says weakly. “But you—”

Harry feels another wave of happiness hit him, and he wishes he had a chair to sit on, not too certain that he hasn't been hexed with a Jelly-Legs.

“Oh, boys,” Hermione says, voice thin and wobbly. “ _Finally_.”

Ron just looks at her, betrayal clear on his face.

“Hold my tea, Thomas,” Draco says mildly. “I have an early gift to deliver. Thanks to all of you.” He sighs, thrusting his cup into Dean’s hands, some of it spilling over his burgundy Auror robes.

Draco makes his way between Lavender and the table, then grabs the little green box and walks over to Harry. He unboxes it slowly—first the ribbon, then the little clip on the box—and Harry feels mesmerised, watching those long, deft fingers work their way through the wrapping.

Ron finally remembers how to speak. “Blimey,” he squeaks.

Hermione wipes tears from under her eyes.

The bracelet is beautiful, intricately woven details into polished gold.

It clasps into place on Harry's wrist, gleaming brightly, then settling into something more muted—a constant, but low shimmering.

Harry looks up at those warm grey eyes, and his breath catches. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Draco says, “Harry, yes.” He repeats, then leans down and kisses him.

It all goes down on a sunny December day but, all in all, it might be Harry’s favourite day.

**Author's Note:**

> draco and hermione were totally in this together
> 
> [my tumblr](http://matsinko.tumblr.com) [(hp tumblr)](https://malfoyc.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/matsinko_)


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